


Mansöngr

by sigurfox



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Erotic Poetry, M/M, Poetry, Sexual Content, the lines are so long it’s almost prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 04:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigurfox/pseuds/sigurfox
Summary: Mairon is given the highest honour.





	Mansöngr

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaamos (reckless_love)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reckless_love/gifts).



> Inspired by your beautiful angbang aesthetic posts and my ancient wish to write an erotic poem in style of Icelandic rímur :) But it didnt turn out quite like rímur, alas. Well, whatever, it’s still an erotic poem!

If aught of worth in love is left he wants it found,

Laid bare before him. And now utterly exposed

Himself recalls as he once watched, spellbound,

A gentle forest flower being decomposed.

Pain-stained, the fingertips imprint on velvet shape

The World Smith’s blackened verity’s untruth,

Affirm about the barbed defense of scape,

Impervious, a manacle around its youth.

 

Touch the ungiving bud of cobalt-colored cope

And part the petals to unveil so lovingly

A gentle core, a caring gateway to a hope…

And Mairon wishes in its place to be.

Be used, be turned as the accroached cunning key

In order to unlock, release, reveal ideal

Eternal wheel. In notion of an ancient king –

Is to present intimacy as an ordeal.

 

In scars engraved the history of His ascent,

The silver permafrost upon His pitch-black hair…

Caught in decay He’s still the most magnificent,

And Mairon loves Him and His tragedy unfair.

Aligned are heartbeats to the taps of cane.

Close to his ear it thuds – a now time metronome.

Do Melkor value him enough to deign

An invitation to elation overblown?

 

Euphoria of being His the very best…

He gasps as Master kisses him, so when

Thus his complicity’s accepted and assessed,

Oh yes, he breathes in a lethal love again.

To bruising iron fist as always he complies,

The hand that shoves him down upon the bed.

Unbidden, unashamed he parts his thighs,

Before a fiery hungry gaze he lies wide spread.

 

So Melkor takes His time to play, to pamper, to prepare.

And each new contact feels like it’s too much.

The scorching swell, the torch of dark desire there

Burns brighter yet at every torturous searching touch.  

And in this exquisite caress he wants to drown,

Excited by what seems a sacrilege defunct.

The moment when his master firmly pins him down,

He arches up into sensation sacrosanct. 

 

That King’s ungenerous – a famous myth.

The maia, panting, overwhelmed and all agleam,

Offers his hips to violent assault, but with

Tremendous tenderness his master enters him.

The taste, the scent, and Melkor’s skin against his skin…

A snug fit of the two desires stokes ablaze.

And Mairon wants to be dissolved, to seep within

The Vala’s joy, drink in the highest praise.

 

Black hands, black heart… The Black Foe He is called.

What do they know of love, those children? All’s

Just ashes in the end, condemned to cold.

However many ends there are in Timeless Halls.

In desperation leaning up to kiss and to be kissed…

The contact always seems one more caress amiss.

He languorously tests the grip about his wrists,

When every nerve in him sings out its blossomed bliss.

 

His throat’s hoarse, serrated moans count the thrusts.

His soul is singed, so is his body clad in light

Of Him. Erupted in the fierce gusts,

The raving fondling in profusion does ignite

A constellation interspersed to bring

The happiness. With bites that sting,

With kisses down his neck, so maddening,

A chain of wondrous cries eliciting.

 

He’s aching, trembling, lost in pleasure perilous...

The master builds his rhythm. Each vigorous roll of hips

Into the ultimate delicious helplessness

Drives him, into The Music Mairon slips.

The sacred song of life proclaims new policy,

The feelings’ mayhem heaves ahead the glee,

A whole new harmony in heights of ecstasy,

The finest form of reason’s enemy.

**Author's Note:**

> Funny thing is that mansöngr in medieval Iceland was not that cheesy and still its creation was considered a crime worthy of death penalty, lmao
> 
> So yea my noble dudes i beg you pleathe  
> Inflict upon me quick and easy Deathe


End file.
